The Last Pretend
by Glimare
Summary: When Neal needed a way out from the feds and Pink Panthers that wouldn't hurt those he cared about, help miraculously appeared. Jarod is a legend among conmen, and a great ally to have, but the looks he gives Neal make him wonder why he jumped at the chance to save him. When he learns why, secrets he didn't think were possible come to air, and it leads him straight to the Center.


**_Disclaimer:_** in no way shape or form can I possibly own rights to The Pretender or White Collar, so Lawyerman, back off! I make no money here!

Post both series beside his one scene, and only because it fit so well into the last season. I don't know when I'll be updating but I do intend to finish this. Since both Pretender and White Collar are over and the fans have calmed down, There probably won't be many readers. Ah well. Those who read, enjoy it. I don't make trash.

* * *

**_The Last Pretend_**

_Prelude_

Neil Caffrey was one of the greatest conmen in all of the US of A for a fairly long time. Then Peter Burk caught him nearly a decade ago and his game pretty much came to an end. Four years in prison, about five years out, a few cons going on in between it all, his life changed a great over the decade. He still enjoyed the thrill of outsmarting everyone around him, but he saw better now the victims of the cons and the full measure of the crimes he surrounded himself in. He changed, a lot.

Unfortunately the criminal justice system and the criminal underworld didn't think so. Neither would let him go now.

Mozzie had left for the night, letting Neal brood over a class of fine wine. Well, it was more like lounging on the balcony, looking at the stars while swirling the glass, but you get the point. His thoughts were everywhere but with the stars. His mind went back to Peter, to the Pink Panthers, and to the FBI. He had an in with the Pink Panthers. He was going to use taking them down as an out with the FBI. Problem was, the Pink Panthers would be after him if he succeeded and the bureaucrats the feds worked for wouldn't let such a valuable commodity go so easily. They all but revoked his chance of freedom a couple years ago when he was up for a parole review. He was ready then to work for the FBI after getting his freedom, and they wanted to keep a collar on him!

Neal needed his freedom. He wanted to live. He wanted so many things everyone else had, and they never had to steal to get it. Why was it the person who first took away his freedom the only person he could count on to get it back? The only one fighting for him?

Shaking his head, he tried to not think of what he cost the only real father figure in his life. Father… even his dad had abandoned him, twice, for the jail house. For this constant hell he was living in. Peter deserved better than him; he was the best father/big brother Neal could ever ask for. And doing this last job could get him and his wife killed. Pink Panthers weren't discriminant about friends and families of those who crossed them.

He took a long sip from his glass as he tried to figure out the conundrum before him. Moz could help him make an ironclad contract with the feds to release him once he took down the Pink Panthers, but how long until they got him on something else and continued to enslave him? Worse, what would happen after the Panthers were behind bars but still able to pay hit men from prison? They didn't stop until they got their revenge. They would kill Peter and Elle if the feds faked his death and put him in witness protection. His bastard of a father would also be a target. As much as he didn't like his old man, he didn't want him dead.

Neal leaned his head back against the chair's back, groaning to himself. Never get into a problem you haven't already solved. What an idiot he was jumping into this with both feet and not knowing how long the drop would be. "I'm such an idiot."

"That's a matter of opinion."

His eyes snapped open at the sound of someone else being on the balcony. When did this guy get there? How long was he there? But most of all, who was talking to him? Carefully, Neal turned his head towards the sound of the voice, careful to keep his surprise to a minimum. A man maybe in his early fifties wearing mostly black and pleather stood in the shadows. He was positioned with his back to the wall and near the house next door. He hid so perfectly that the light from the apartment and from the sky didn't hit him and was positioned in such a way he could escape without being seen. He'd compliment the man if there wasn't the possibility of him being an assassin from the Panthers or some ex-mark.

"Please," he waved a hand around the place, "invite yourself in."

"It's quite a pickle you've gotten yourself into… Mr. Caffrey." Mr. Mystery took a few steps closer to the light, letting him make out more details. His long black hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and peppered with greys. Dark brown eyes watched him with both… amusement and sadness? Strange combination. A mole under one eye gave him a distinguishing feature that'd be hard to forget. Yet he couldn't recall anyone with these particular traits. "But not impossible."

"Call me Neal." He flashed him a charming smile as he pushed himself into a more dignified sitting position. "Would you like some Chateau? 1908. I think there's still some left in the bottle."

"No thank you… Neal." The man stayed where he was, just watching him. Watching was pretty disturbing.

Neal just shrugged it off. "Your loss. I hate to see a fine wine go to waste."

"And I hate to see a fine mind ruined by a vice."

"I prefer to think of it as… well cultured." He continued to smile as he got up and needlessly refilled his glass. He raised the glass to his lips as he sized up the man even more. Could he take him in a fight? Maybe. If he had a gun, Neal was screwed. Still, wasn't it proper manners for chatty assassins to tell you why you were about to die? Or was this the kind who distracted you while his sexy/grubby partner (it was always one of the other) swung behind him to slit his throat? Either way, best to keep him talking. "I like fine wines, fine art, and good company who give their host a name. What might yours be?"

"Jarod."

Neal choked on his wine, spitting part of it back into the glass. Slowly he lowered his glass, disbelief on his face. "Come again?"

"Jarod. I believe you've heard of me." There was a smirk in his voice, cheeky devil. Well, that fit the profile at least.

Jarod. _The_ Jarod. The legendary conman-vigilante. If anyone managed to get a wanted poster with his face on it, Neal would have had it pinned to his wall.

Mozzie used to tell him stories about Jarod, and since helping the FBI, was compared to him on more than one occasion. Jarod was well known for pulling the biggest cons of all time, on local authorities, big businesses, and on other big time criminals, but never for his own gain. He was always saving, often literally, the little guy. Rumor had it he toppled empires, acting as an undercover cop or fed a few times. Once in a while people caught onto his acts, but they let him go all the time because he saved lives. In definition he was a conman. In action he was a hero.

Neal always wanted to meet him.

Looking over the guy again, he tried to find some way to discredit that this man was him. He was fooled far too many times lately to fall for another fake. Unfortunately he fit Mozzie's description to a T, right down to the mole. Either he had Moz's intel or he was the genuine article. But there was still one little problem.

"Possibly," he managed to say before setting the glass down on a table. "There are a lot of people who were named Jarod fifty years ago."

"Hm. Yeah." Jarod nodded a few times, shrugging like a child. "It makes it easy to pick out a new identity every few weeks."

"And a lot of them are dead." Neal had it on good authority (Mozzie) that Jarod, _the_ Jarod, was dead. Died in an explosion. They found a body, identification, and even a positive blood match. There was enough evidence to prove he was dead and word flew across the country when it happened. Jarod was admired and feared in the criminal underworld, so he sent ripples wherever he was. Losing him almost sent people into morning. Mozzie even had a wake.

He nodded again. "Easier to get out a jam if you're dead. The hard part is getting everyone chasing after you to believe it."

"Really…" The younger man eyed him again, still not sure if he could believe this man. Sure no one dared to take the alias of a dead man or a legend in their circles, particularly this one, but Mozzie's Dentist of Detroit came to mind. It was possible someone who matched the description would go gallivanting around like him if he wanted to. "I wouldn't know. I'm not a ghost."

"Not yet." Jarod seemed to smile in the shadows, but not in a condescending way. "I heard about your predicament."

"I find that hard to believe." The FBI didn't advertise him as a consultant, and the Pink Panthers kept their mouths shut about their operations.

"Understandably so. But I do know what's going on, and that you're between a rock and a hard place."

"Really…" Doubting outwardly but unable to squelch the acids in his stomach, Neal folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. His eyes never left the visitor. "What exactly are those again? Since you seem to know everything about me, Jarod."

Jarod took one step closer so he could be seen by Neal alone a little clearer. He took his hands out of his coat pockets and looked him in the eye, dead serious yet not threatening. "You've been a consultant to the FBI's White Collar division for the past five years, under the supervision of one Peter Burke, the man who originally caught you. He's been the only one to catch you in all of your criminal career, which surprisingly never took advantage of the less fortunate and mainly targeted high rollers. Recently you have crossed paths with the Pink Panthers, an elite international group of thieves who specialize in jewelry. They named themselves after thieves in a play."

Jarod seemed to find this fact funny but Neal rolled his eyes to hide his amusement. Yeah, they were really original. He went on. "You have requested that your sentence be revoked as you have made serious busts and saved quite a few lives over the past five years, and should have been released from your anklet at least twice by now. The FBI higher ups do not want to honor their agreements. The Pink Panthers want you on their team for a future heist, but are very traitorous. If they get sent to jail and know you're behind it, they will kill everyone you love before getting around to you.

"The Pink Panthers are the rock, FBI hard place." Jarod smiled smartly, clapping his hands together as he finished his simple analysis. They were pretty much the same thoughts Neal had just a few minutes ago. Guy hit the nail on the head. "You're going to need some help getting out of this mess, but one slip up from your friends and everything will fall apart."

"And you're offering your services?" Okay, this guy knew exactly what was going on. How he wasn't sure, but _the_ Jarod was also said to have that knack of getting information and into people's brains better than anyone. There might be some truth to him being the legend after all.

He bowed slightly, palms facing Neal. "If you'll allow me to, I can help you escape it without a hitch and without a trail back to you and your new life."

Neal's eyes narrowed on the man. He knew everything about the situation, or at least enough to be an annoyance or a help. There was just one problem. "Nothing's for free. What's your angle?"

Jarod smiled painfully to himself before answering. "When all is said and done, and this entire mess is behind you… once we are on the road far away from here… All I ask is that you listen to what I have to say and think about it with an open mind, willing to accept possibilities."

"Are you hiring me for a future job?" Typical. Everyone wanted his talents. This guy was no hero if he just saved his skin so he could put it in danger again.

"No. Quite the contrary." He looked into Neal's eyes, pleading for him to listen. "I want to get you out of this life. I know what it's like to be trapped and wanting to get out. I had help along the way, so I want to help you too."

The conartist watched him for a minute or more in silence, not sure whether or not to believe him. This guy, Jarod, was willing to help him get out of this problem, to solve it completely, and all he wanted in return was for him to listen to him after this entire mess was done? That seemed too farfetched. Still, it was a good deal. Just listen to a guy, didn't have to believe a word or agree to anything else, and he could be a free man.

"Tell me your plan and I'll tell you if I like it."

Jarod smiled, almost in relief. He looked once around the nearby buildings for something, heaven knows what, then left the shadows completely to head inside. He waved a hand towards the building's interior, silently telling him to get comfortable. Planning would take a while. Neal trailed in after he did, willing to hear what he had to say.

"First of all, you need an ironclad agreement with the FBI."

* * *

A/N: There is no way on earth Neal came up with all of his fake death on his own. He needed help, and the less of a paper trail there is, the less likely anyone will be suspicious. The deal with the feds is clearly to act as a cover for Neal, making it seem like he had no intention to run. Everything else... just buying a person off isn't enough. If they really like you or are in your debt, the better. Jarod has connections so he's perfect for setting this up.

Hope you liked it. Please comment and fave. It gets the juices flowing.


End file.
